Omikuji: random fortunes written on strips of paper at Shinto shrines in Japan.
Literally "sacred lottery", these are usually received by pulling one out randomly from a box that one shakes, hoping for the resulting fortune to be good. The omikuji falls out of a small hole, scrolled up.
The Omikuji Project is an experiment in cyberfunded art. It is an old-fashioned approach to new-founded literature, the shortest path from author to reader. It is a secret and marvelous communication, a unique way for you to read stories unavailable in any other venue, in any other way. It is a network of tales, a community. It is whispering in the dark; it is a fireside confession.
On the fifteenth of the month, subscribers will receive either a PDF or a mailed letter containing one short story not less than two-thousand words, a small piece of illustrative art by the author (and occasionally by her friends), and any other literary flotsam I can find to send you. The mailing, however, is the heart of the project: printed on high quality archival paper, autographed, and sealed with a scarlet wax stamp, they are stunning collectible artifacts.
The stories will not be published in other arenas, so this is the only way to read them. I will continue this project so long as a minimum number of subscribers are interested (approximately 30).
Click below to be a part of the Omikuji Project (Note: Subscribers outside the US should email the author for international postage rates):
In honor of the sacred lottery of the Omikuji, each month, a random subscriber will be selected to receive a unique gift along with their email or mailing, which will change from month to month.
Subscribers will also have access to a dedicated Livejournal community and may, if they like, suggest subjects, characters, or structures for future stories. I deeply hope that a small community will form around these stories, and that my readers, extraordinary people that they are, can find each other and know each other through this hidden space, off the beaten road of traditional publishing.
The first tale, The Glass Gear, a steampunk Cinderella story, will go out on April 1st. You must subscribe by the 28th of any given month in order to receive that month's story; late subscriptions will receive the next month's offering. In order to cover costs, the mailing will be $10 a month, the PDF $5. If you wish to subscribe for a full year, a discounted rate of $100 for the mailings and $50 for the emails is avaiable.
If you enjoy a given month's story, please feel free to use the tip jar or to upgrade to a mailing for that period for an additional $5. You subscription will not change permanantly unless you wish it to.
First, you must choose a place to stand. It can't be just anywhere. There are six places which will bear the weight of the Ladder. Only four are known to the likes of you and me.
The first is about twelve feet past the gate of Anna Civadier's cowpen in Banff, Canada. By June the earth will be too soft, even there. But in December, when the heifers' hooves freeze to the ice-spangled grass, hammer your slats through the frost. Don't forget to bring your wallet -- Anna sells tickets and she knows what she's got out there in the muck and the lowing. They come up in twos and threes every winter, blowing on their hands, asking for cider and a bed, carrying good ash-wood on their backs and enough nails to sling rungs till the end of the world and pin up any messiah they might find up there in the wet, sullen clouds. Most everybody quits around New Year, but they have a big bonfire and roast a bull (Anna gets good value for that hunk of meat, you can be sure) and laugh about the whole business while the broken ladders smoke up to the stars.
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